


Pace Tua: Cursed

by Sides4Peace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Black Hermione Granger, Blood Magic, Dark Lily Evans Potter, Dark Magic, Everyone Is Alive For Now, Eye color is important, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Changes His Name, I Don't Even Know, James Potter Lives, Lily Evans Potter Lives, M/M, Prophetic Visions, Prophets, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Visions in dreams, but it is different, everyone is guilty, harry is adopted, just let it happen, making it up as I go, mostly - Freeform, not much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sides4Peace/pseuds/Sides4Peace
Summary: My first epic, I'll be honest I have an outline but we might end up going a little off script depending on what my muse hits me with
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Lee Jordan/Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood/Fred Weasley/George Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. What Gets Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> My first epic, I'll be honest I have an outline but we might end up going a little off script depending on what my muse hits me with

1980 was a dark time for the community that was wizarding England.

  
During the late 60's and early 70's a political revolution began, less were laws about muggle control voted on and more were muggles sympathized with by wixen.  
Attitudes regarding those poor souls born without magic shifted away from weariness at the danger they presented, the witch hunts and the devastation of the rise of Christianity seemed long in the past, even to a people with such long life spans. The once disdainful attitude shifted to a patronizing kind of fondness, the sort of emotion you felt for a favored pet.

  
This change in attitude enraged and disgusted the few wixen left who had family trees whittled down to the barest branches by _muggles_.

  
England's wizarding society had long held traditional values and mores, most families still worshipping the Olde Magic and following the Pegan God's.

The traditionalists, fears and anger churning in them, began to form a harsher  
regulations, adding in more legislation to revoke muggle parental rights, require more distancing of muggle-born children in school, demanding they learn more than the basics of what it meant to be wixen.

  
The Party became known quickly as The Knights of Walpurgis.

  
As the 70's wound to a close and with tensions running high between all members of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Grindelwald, had stepped back into the spotlight.   
Albus took on the mantel of Supreme Mugwump, leader and deciding vote of the august body.

He quickly found a disturbing  
trend of violent accidents occurring in the members voting against the Knights, he noticed seedy deals and harsh demands and barely concealed black mail. The corruption disturbed him deeply.

  
Albus found himself confronting a lone Knight who seemed to pull a majority of strings, Orion Black, and the confrontation that began a war ensued.

Orion Black, Lord Black of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, was a hot head and a fire starter all in one. What started as a polite interrogation over tea between two powerful men ended in a public duel in the middle of Luxor Alley, destroying the outdoor patio of the tea shop wholesale.

Orion had intended to win the confrontation and remove the main stumbling block of the goals of The Knights.

  
However, Albus had quickly bested the younger man and questioned him ruthlessly on the aims and goals of this political party so willing to fall to violence. every thing he heard screamed at him from the mouth of the fanatic Black had become was more than disturbing. another rendition of Grindelwald he feared. 

  
At that first spark of violence The Knights sprung into action, violent attack after disturbing murder after vicious fight, it seemed never ending in those first weeks, an  
on from there. As the Knights rose to the fight a new leader among them was becoming apparent. A charismatic man calling himself Dark Lord Voldemort. Far from being a political leader, as Orion had been, Voldemort was a war general.

  
As the Dark Lord Voldemort was rising, the wizarding world was awash with uncertainty and rife with shock. Since Grindewald's defeat at the hands of Albus Dumbledore in 40's the world had been at relative peace.

It was an age of political power, not brute strength. In the interring years lazy wizards occupied the Auror ranks and took on the role of Hit Wizard.

Ministers who worried of Ballroom dances and solstice celebrations held the office declaring the world at peace.

They were unprepared; they were not ready for another Dark lord, another Dark War.

Some claimed the most famous of Light Lords to be among them in the form of Dumbledore.

But that did little to ease the terror of the common wixen.

Everyone was on edge however one witch in particular found herself buckling under the pressure of such a divided society.

  
She was prepared. She had known, the great Albus Dumbledore had told her himself in confidence, of the man Voldemort and what his rise surely meant.

She would be sure the war ended with the Light victorious, no matter the sacrifice and means.

* * *

  
Lily Potter, once Lily Evans, sat with three other darkly robed figures hunched around a small bassinet in a dingy muggle pub. The whole corner they occupied shrouded under privacy  
silencing wards.

The tiny child inside the bassinet was almost nine months old but looked as small as a new born with the delicate porcelain face and miniature hands squeezing his blanket around him. Thick dark hair curled and blended with the black pillow he rested on, highlighting his creamy pale skin and cherub cheeks.

Lovingly the red-haired witch reached down to brush a dark curl from the child's forehead.

sitting stack and silvery on the Childs forehead was the mark of the ritual that had been conducted to make Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore's vision of the future a reality.

The lightning shape the mark took was abnormal to the blood ritual used but not something overly worrisome, what was problematic was the pulsating aura it gave off. Anyone that had mage sight or even the slightest bit of sensitivity could could feeling the chilling ooze of the curse mark.

The baby's thick lashes parted and his tiny rosebud mouth opened in a silent 'o'. The woman shuddered as did her companions as they caught sight of the eerie green eyes set in his sweet baby face.

Maybe it was mothers opinion she mused, but he was less fussy than any child she'd met. he was a gorgeous baby too, and curious and alert to everything around him. any mother would be proud to have him. if not for the Cursed aura. 

  
"Do you see what we made him?" Lily whispered brokenly as she drew her hand back from the bassinet and the child nestled there.

  
At birth the baby's eyes, Harry he'd been then, just baby Harry James Potter, had been a deep blue, almost lavender, they had darkened and in the months before the ritual had been almost violet purple.

  
Two days ago on the eve of his ninth month that had changed.

The eyes had melted to a piercing green, eerily bright and clear.

No hint of blue or gray clouded with dull them to a more mundane hazel. No pretty purple Vaisey eyes from James's mother. No throw back eyes of Gray from the Gryffindor line.

The figure sitting next to her twitched slightly before he could control himself. The witch caught the gesture and said dangerously, her own muggle green eyes narrowing "Oh  
yes, you as well. Do not ever doubt that. It was all of us, and we share that burden"

Her tone sharpened and turned more mocking turn as she glanced back at the two silent figures.  
  
"You might have participated in the blood ritual and adopted him, making him your own. But he _IS_ my child. I carried him for nine long moths and gave birth to him and held him in my arms and swore to protect him. This is not protecting him, I'm sure we are all aware. We preformed the ritual and in doing so tainted him, more than I ever dreamed."

She paused, the passion of her words still riding the air making the other three settle uncomfortably, before she went on subdued.

  
"James suspects something is going on. Dumbledore himself asked after his _remarkable_ eyes just yesterday. Even trying to mask the mark on him was risky, with Dumbledore one never knows, but I suspect he's suspicious as well. I think our time with him is over."

  
Sirius hissed drawing back from the table his shoulders hunched.

  
"So soon?" he asked in a whisper.

His own silver eyes holding the child's green gaze, feeling something inside him that had been twisting snap at the thought of this final betrayal.

  
The tallest of the cloaked figures laughed harshly, his silky voice snapping coldly "Black did you expect time to coddle our son with love and childish delights? To spoil him and pamper him with toy broomsticks and playthings? Fool. Lily is right, the Dark Lord is rising, he hasn't presented himself to the public at large yet but the Dark Mark burns almost daily and the Knights are restless, its better if we do this now."

  
Sirius hesitated, still seeming unsure.

"In case you have forgotten Black, two of us are owned by the man. Do you want to risk the Child's life on a whim? You might as well cast the Avada Kedavara your self if we keep him near us! We are obvious targets in this Hecate blighted war." Severus Snape continued darkly.

  
Lily's eyes were bright and decidedly unreadable but she nodded, reaching to grab the bassinet and the silent child. Pulling out an empty plastic bottle from the depths of her cloak and placing it on the table. Holding the boys carrier close she murmured "Escape" as soon asthey all drew together across the table and touched it.

The silent jerk of the Port Key pulling the five of them sideways through time leaving the little muggle pub empty, as if they'd never been there at all.

  
They landed heavily near the Leaky Cauldron, a highly magically populated part of muggle London. Both Severus and Lily kept their feet as they met firm earth once more the other two men were sent sprawling, causing Severus to smirk and mutter about incompetent Aurors and Death Eaters and the future that pointed toward.

They didn't want to be seen hovering about and risk someone recognizing any of the odd group so the started off quickly moving towards the only building standing at the end of one of the more run down streets they'd ever seen. A tall and looming building made of harsh red brick and the words "Muller Orphanage for Youth" crumbling from a low hanging sign stood before them.

"Can we do this? Leave him and expect miracles when he enters our world again?" Sirius asked, more to himself than the others, his eyes catching on the depilated building with its creeping ivy.

  
It was a pointless remark; they would leave him, they had already began the march down this path and there was no where left to turn back.

  
The baby might be the youngest and most innocent sacrifice in this war thus far, but others had already sacrificed before him, more would after Lily felt sure. Already the five, themselves, had stepped over their own lines, ones they could never retreat behind again. The things done in this Child's name had tainted them and their souls to the darkest black. All for a flimsy dream.

  
"His happiness is not our goal. Sirius, You more than most know the pain of a home not worth living in. Will it be too much? He will have the chance of the  
grow and mature here. No one will feel the wrongness of a child with Killing-Curse eyes in the muggle world." Lily asked, giving them this one last option for a token objection.

  
Her pain, suffering, love and dignity had all been striped away for the child she held. Never again would she be whole for what sins she had willingly committed. She would never be lauded as a hero or given an Order of Merlin for what she had done, but this child was the future and she had both birthed and created him. Some would clamor for Azkaban for her and the others if they ever knew. But they had done as no one else could have, they had stepped forward and accepted the burden of fate, even at the cost of their souls. The price they had paid was willingly spent on the hope of the future of their worlds existence and peace.

  
Protecting him wasn't something she could do directly though. Her husband felt the darkness leaking from his already strong aura. Her mentor and the Light Lord could see his magical green eyes, the liquid emerald color nothing like her own muggle jade. He wouldn't be safe around magic folk who could sense his wrongness. But if the protection of a Muggle orphanage wasn't worth the price at hand, she might be condemning them all, she wanted the validation once more that this choice, this last piece of the puzzle the fates had sent her in misty visions was the right step.

a wrong move could ruin the game, condemn them all, she felt sure. 

  
Sirius inhaled sharply through his nose. His childhood hadn't been a pleasant experience, but he had come out the other side remarkably whole for it. Surely this place wouldnt put the child in a place to be faced with anything like the animosity of Sirius' own mad relatives. This place was filled with other lonely children and adults dedicating their lives to those left behind His son would be safe here until he began his magical education; this was a chance for him to be normal when he had been made and abomination in the eyes of most wixen he would meet.

  
"Let do this Lily." His voice was overly tender, too emotional, but she didn't comment.

Lily's own tears had been shed the day she condemned her soul for the future of an ungrateful wizarding world.

She steeled her spine once more and they all moved forward towards the door. Sirius stood behind Lily with Severus at her side and the tallest figure hanging far behind the others. Lily knocked hard, three sharp raps, and braced herself for what came next.  
The door didn't budge and no sounds were heard. Just as they began to wonder if they had come too late in the day the door finally burst open and a petite, plump, woman in her early twenties answered the door.

  
Her face was set in a soft smile, with sienna colored eyes revealing an emotion almost pity and halfway jaded regard, as though she knew the people before her and even knew the sacrifice they had made. Her skin was the soft brown of African descent by way of Ireland, with coarse black hair tight in a bun on her head. Her outfit was a simple pair of beige slacks and a white button up shirt, both looking worn but clean. While she was nothing to intimidate, the four of them were more than apprehensive, put off by the air of understanding she seemed to have.

  
Lily was determined though. She stepped forward with a forced smile and clutched the bassinet until her fingers whitened with pressure. 

  
"My son." Were the only words she could find.

  
It was all that needed saying.

  
One did not come to an orphanage with a child so young to leave with it again. Come to that perhaps the woman did understand their sacrifices, if not the magnitude.

  
She looked down and was startled to see the Killing-Curse eyes blinking up at her once more. Firming her resolve she pressed the bassinet and its precious cargo into the woman's expectant arms.

  
  
Severus stepped up as the red haired witch turned and hurried away, disappearing down the cobbled street before she could take her child back. The other two crowded in behind him as he began speaking, both solemn and supportive, feeling the same keen loss as Severus and heavy with the burden of guilt that it was their own fault.

  
"Heraldr Arcturus James. He was born July 31st in 1980. His Mothers name is Elizabeth James, father unknown. He has no other family and Elizabeth isn't in any condition to keep him"

  
Severus seemed overwhelmed by that small monologue and his own guilt clawing at his throat, now that tis moment was here, now that his actions seemed to finally register. He turned away quickly following Lily up the path into the night. Being closely followed by a silent Sirius. Both fathers left behind the son whose tainted innocence was their only salvation, the only reason either could carry on with this fight.

  
The last man, the boys last blood-and-magic father stood at the door of the orphanage and felt a cold restricting band begin to harden around his heart. He was already a jaded man. He did not believe in his redemption nor did he want salvation. He knew he was his own damnation.

His tiny son was in that bassinet being clutched to the chest of an undeserving Muggle wench, the child who was the pureblood scion of three Noble and Dark Houses of magic.

The four had gambled recklessly and were desperate for a hope that was unrealistic and years in the making. Every one of them involved in the Ritual aware that they were damning their own lines to ruin, damning the line of another Noble House by stealing his son for their own, and damning the child to growing up in the worst kind of isolation from his own heritage.   
His son, His son, who already had a visible aura to those looking, an aura thick as morning fog the same color as his Avada Kedavra eyes, his powerful and dark son, the perfect scion of the Dark. With his beautiful power and nobility and purity, all that was his by blood and magic.

  
And he, this child's father, was a bloody coward.

  
Lily had made the three men promise a wizards oath before even beginning the plan that had ripped their souls to shreds, an oath to never ask the orphanage to tell him more than what Snape had recited, never ask the orphanage to deliver a letter and for they themselves to never have any purposeful contact with the boy until he re-entered the wizarding world.

  
Yet he had written a letter.

  
It was short, uninformative, vague and obscure in the extreme. Alluding to power and magic, giving the reasoning behind all of his names but the last, touching on his own contributions to the boy's appearance and avoiding confirming anything.

  
But he couldn't do it.

  
Even as he stood thinking it he felt the tightness of the wizard's oath around his right wrist, three burning coils keeping him from giving his beautiful cursed son even the smallest comfort of a letter.

  
His veins were icy with guilt. The steel band that was cooling around his heart turned brittle and shattered piercing him deeply. He understood then. The killing, the pain and humiliation- Nothing. Not compared to abandoning the boy before him. He was changed and shattered. An already broken man, bound body and soul to promises he couldn't imagine fulfilling. He had never hated Lily Potter more than this moment.

  
"No!"

  
The woman holding his child-HIS- called to him firmly just as he was about to walk away. The imprudent muggle bitch. She had the arrogance to call him back from his departure, even as she cradled that precious bundle to her chest? He almost drew his wand. _Crucio_ might be a bit harsh for her minor sin, but a well placed _Maulitino_ might teach her how to mind her tongue. He turned to do just that when her piercing eyes caught and held him frozen.

  
"Give the son of the triad the letter you hold." She said firmly, a quality in her voice sounding much like a command had his left hand moving down to his pocket and a growl on his lips.

  
"Triad?" he questioned softly, wanting her to do something, anything, to allow a hex or curse to pass his lips, satisfaction for the hurt in his soul, maybe a reprieve allowing him to claim the boy back in his own best interest, the only loop hole Lily hadn't closed to them.  
  
"But of course, Son of Prince, Son of Black and Son of-"

  
He cut her off abruptly. "He is son of Four, not three woman."

  
His heart rate had picked up; The woman knew something. The Sight could touch anyone, and with this child, guided to life by fate he would believe the muggle before him could've been so touched. He shouldn't have been surprised, she was looking at him the way Xeno used to when he had caught sight of something new, before, before he had shattered.  
best not to think on it more.

  
The woman laughed lightly. His patience was almost gone, the cool and familiar weight of his fourteen inch ebony wand with its unicorn hair core was tingling pleasantly in his hand a moment later. He gave in and growled an animalistic huff that conveyed how very far his lineage had gin into the madness they were born to. The Seer bitch's eyes never wavered their piercing stare even as his wand touched her throat.

  
With a careful smile she said lightly.

  
"The woman chooses three men of dark and rebuffed the light in him at every turn.

His once-father removed his heritage and you three Sons of Night gave him another,

  
The flower was once pure and still held too much light,

The Hope that you created is too dark for the sun she represented.

He is Son of three.

A Knight in the making, more pure of blood than he was born to.

His soul isn't torn and tarnished as you feared in his forging,

but he was dipped in darkness,

He will lead a merry chase and birth the Chant Du Mal Court and release a new wild hunt.

Your hope will be the salvation you seek,

but a blacker light one cannot find."

  
Though her words weren't in the cadence of prophecy, he knew she was genuine, reciting all she Saw and Felt.

He couldn't go on like this.

He grabbed his letter of not quiet enough and threw it on to the ground, jerking his wand back he twisted, and was gone with a _CRACK!_ in front of her and did not care to think upon it. When the sharp sound from the man's leave settled in the air the woman picked the letter up from the ground and turned to go inside.

  
She had warned them.

  
She spared a glance down at the baby, Son of Three, Leader of Armies, Enemy of Light and Dark, Lord Master of the Last Wild Hunt. His glowing eyes the deepest emerald green, were pools of understanding. His soul was a deep rich silver-green, surrounding him in a cocoon of power. He was already everything one could hope for.  
Through the spirals of time he had already done, would do, and was doing all he would ever accomplish.

  
The wizards thought the Lord Voldemort bad? Cruel and wrong?

The Light Lord encouraged the beliefs they held as well, courting many away from the truth, but the Son of Hope, this young man now called Haraldr, could save the world. She closed her eyes briefly as she Saw and Felt again his pain, he would suffer, always suffer. The early years always being the hardest for him, eroding his innocence and destroying the childish part of him.

But it must be, it always was.

  
She almost felt compassion at the thought.

  
She stepped forward and felt the world shift around her. She was in another, smaller, dingier room with dozens of beds, a few cribs unoccupied sat in a corner.

  
She carefully picked up the small child from his bassinet and placed him down in the tatty nest of blankets in an unoccupied crib, stroking his forehead touching gently on the mark of lightning. The boys bright eyes floating closed as she willed him to sleep. Leaving him here, in this new orphanage all the way across the country from the original one would stall them. The Three wouldn't find him until he had already entered Hogwarts. And by then plans would have already been abandoned and threads woven and fate sealed. It would help that his letter would be delayed and he would enter in his fifth year, not the first.

  
But if the Light Lord caught onto Lily's deceit too early the boy would be contained and managed and no hope would outlast that damage.

  
Turning her back she left the letter tucked with the child and melted away again.

So much to prepare in the next fourteen years.

  
So little time.

  
But for now, let Voldemort have his fun and the Light Lord wreak havoc on the balance.


	2. What Is Deserved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Bit of an interlude from Lily's perspective to set the stage, the next chapter jumps to Harry and gets us into the main story.

_**Lily Potter** _

  
Lily Potter _nee_ Evans did not feel an ounce of guilt as she told James their son was dead.

She wouldn't.

Because it was True.

She, herself, had killed part of the innocence a child naturally posses.

  
The Potter part of the boy was gone the moment James, under the Imperious, declared him erased from the Potter line. His blood was scrubbed of all the traces of James' family and could never be returned. The name Harry and the parts of him that came from Lily's own blood and probable squib lineage were gone as well, during the ritual claiming by all three of his now Pureblood fathers. the things that had made Harry their own son had been sacrificed and buried by the weight of the ancient rituals they had used, and so telling James his son was dead coated the back of her tongue with guilt and made her stomach turn with regret but no, it was not a lie.

  
She wasn't sure if the other men understood though. Sometimes those who grow up with magic assume they know everything there is to know and don't bother with researching spells and rituals at all. They didn't seem to respect the magic that lived in their very veins. She had long suspected purebloods and even halfbloods were desensitized to some of the more mind bending aspects of magic. the parts of magic ever muggleborn struggled to grasp at. They didn't have the simple awe that a newcomer to the world of the wixen brought either.

  
The ritual she had led them to had been based on some particularly nasty rituals and rites she had found in an worn leather book in Severus' home one summer, with the distinct Prince House crest pressed into the cover. She had carefully reworked the ritual and it's outcome to adapt it better to her own purposes. At the basest of it the ritual had been a crude power supplying blood adoption. It would have slowly bled the child's power into the adopted clans own family magic.

She used her skills in ancient runes and charms, led by the weight of divination, to make it much more.

  
The ritual removed all impurities of blood and took the joined essence of the three most powerful and skilled men she knew and remade the child as if he were born of their own flesh,, magic and blood.  
  
She could hardly call herself his mother at all, and certainly not by any blood line standards of the wizarding world.

  
His features had morphed into aristocratic sharpness common among Wixen Noble family's. His eyes had taken the color of the Darkest soul violating curse in the Wixen world. His hair was the darkness of a child born of the night.

  
He wasn't hers or James' anymore.

  
His baby softness had seemed to be missing, once dark auburn hair and striking lavender eyes had gone as well. She was glad sometimes that the boy was gone now, she didn't have to look into once familiar eyes and see what she had done every day. Didn't have to wonder and think of all the choices she had made that had led her down this road with no absolution in sight, only the hope that something better might spring from the ashes she had scattered in the wind.  
  
The ritual and the subsequent abandonment had left her soul broken. Something she had once fancifully thought of as pure and light as a snow storm. Something she once debated the existence of with her family and friends, she knew that it was more real, less ephemeral than she'd ever believed. But not until it was too late, not until it was cracked down the foundations did she really account for what it meant to truly have a soul.

  
Though it wasn't guilt wasn't eating her alive, piece by piece. She wasn't concerned for her carefully chosen victims, men and women of the dirty streets of London. All had been the most worthless and unredeemable people in her eyes. Rapists and thieves and whores and murderers themselves. Nothing in them made her regret.

  
No, Her soul was wrecked from simply having the will to commit murder after murder, all done in cold blood. The ritual required no remorse for victims, and she wouldn't allow it to creep in now.

She was wicked enough to murder. She was evil enough to do the ritual at all, even though she knew and suspected the many unasked for consequences and side effects for the participants.

She had sentenced her son to a life of dark magic and loneliness.

She then had abandoned him for his own good.

She was as bad as Dumbledore and Voldemort together.

Lily had manipulated four good men out of a child and heir to Noble bloodlines.  
  
And worse yet.

When her son received his letter at the tender age of eleven and went down Diagon alley, everyone would know. As he boarded the Hogwarts express they would look into his cursed eyes and they would then understand.

When Dumbledore saw what she had done he would act. He would take her defiance as what it was, a challenge to his ability to stop the blood war.

James would be destroyed beyond all recognition, his once bright light snuffed out under the weight of hatred and rage.

  
The boy's blood and magic fathers would find out about the prophecy guiding all their lives.

  
And the worst of all still remained that Harry was no more.

Perhaps it was regret after all.

  
Being devoured by depression and emotions so strong was wearing on her. In the months after the loss of her child she was worn down and broken. Her once bright red hair was washed out and greasy, grey littered among the strands at just twenty one years old. Her milk and cream complexion had withered and become sallow. Skin and bones replaced her once lithe form. The muggle green eyes that had sparkled with life and drawn men to buzz around her had become dull and lifeless.

She felt herself dying, fading into a husk of her former vibrancy.

  
The true Irony was that everyone around her thought her death was from the heart break at the loss of her son, when in reality she had only hung on to this life for that same reason.

  
Soon she would die.

  
She prayed.

She didn't deserve better.

  
But perhaps she even deserved worse.

  
She wasn't talking of James. He was a rude uncouth prejudiced man. Even her love couldn't fog over his unattractive qualities. She couldn't let the savior of the Wixen way of life be infected by his attitudes, let alone her own son. Had she had the choice she never would have given birth to a child with James, she loved him and would have been happy with him all of her days, but he was not a man to raise a family with.

  
In this though the boy had to be conditioned for what was coming.

  
So her biggest betrayal was not to her tiny infant son. She was simply honing him Into what he needed to be. He would be lauded as a savior in the end. Die a martyrs death and live his whole short life bathed in power. He would defeat the dark. Decimate it really. She had Seen that. In the face of his destiny it was of no consequence that he would not have a family, be raised in love, or even have the comforting years of childhood to reflect on in the Dark times to come.

  
She was not even upset to be lying to Albus, her loving mentor. The man to draw together her and many others to form The Order of the Phoenix, the best damn chance the light would ever have of holding their own. Albus was the man who had taught her the intricate scruples of being right in ways that could manipulate and save, all the while using her loved ones and friends as pieces in her own chess game. She was after all doing it for The Greater Good, and she hoped he would see that when the Charmed letter she sent arrived on her childs Eleventh birthday, and not just see the foul things she had done to the boy.

  
She couldn't be bothered by Albus' and James opinions when she had been lying to them for years, ever since her fourth summer at Hogwarts.

  
She was thinking of her ultimate sin, the ultimate treason by all counts. She had betrayed the three men who had helped her, given over all for her. Played so many lies and spying games for her since her prophecy induced revelation that summer long ago. They had been closer and farther apart from her than anyone.

  
And she had _obliviated_ the three without thought.

  
She locked away all memories of them together, all the subverted years of hiding in Hogwarts, all the duality, of their lies with the Dark Lord and Albus. Locked away love in two of them, locked away the sting of rejection resulting from a lost love in the last. Locked away their successor, because all three noble houses would nevever be able to produce another heir unless Harry- The baby was formally undeclared.

  
He would not be.

He couldn't be if they didn't remember his existence.

She had knowingly cursed three noble houses out of existence and betrayed a sacred oath she had written herself and signed in the blood of her own body.

  
They would not remember, but they wouldn't forget either. She was by profession an _Obliviator_ at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; she knew the charm in every part of her soul, as every person in her department was required to. They would always feel the aching loss of something, because it wasn't truly gone. Only hidden behind blood shields that would devour reversal spells and reject _Legilimency._ Due to the specifications of the ritual she could not truly let them forget the existence of the child.

  
And now she would die for her own duplicity.

  
Even with what would result, the withering and rotting away, the lingering years she had to endure, she had betrayed her words. Oath-Breaker would forever follow the wizard dealings she had to attend before her impending death.

  
She simply couldn't risk one of the men caving. Despite wizard oath's; they would mean nothing, eventually, to the men. Purebloods were of family stock. They would decide to rescue him from the muggle orphanage. They would talk of him amongst themselves.

  
It was too much to be left up to chance.

  
And then once he was in their world they risked corrupting him from all of their own ideals and prejudices and dark dealings. One was a Spy for light and dark, painted black then white and black again. One was deeply mentally unstable, traumatized by blood curse of insanity and the treachery of his family and the abuses they heaped on him. One was deep cover in Voldemort's inner circle and Brother-bound to his infertile elder who had married into insanity and taken to it with relish, he was utterly convincing in his ideals because of his own dark taint.

  
The child couldn't be given to them no matter the oaths they had sworn.

  
No matter intent, no matter love, no matter duty, no matter honor.

They would infect and influence him. The clearest parts of prophecy had been, do not allow him to enter our world before the magical age.

So he wouldn't.

  
And now she suffered from the word's written by optimistic teens who wouldn't extend a hand of such deep trust unless under dire penalties. The boy's, her boys she had once referred to them fondly, would probably not even have recalled the words, if she had let them keep them. The consequences of betrayal being as foreign to them as was now the concept of any other allegiance.

  
They had all grown so close, loving one another so deeply. Two discovering each other so thoroughly they had bound themselves in a marital union she had stolen from their minds. 

  
And her.

  
The center piece to the three men so different.

A seer by blood and a prophetess by chance.

A confidante to all three.

She'd not intended this betrayal, she'd neither Seen nor planned it, especially in those early days.

  
So naively she had allowed herself to bring them close to her heart. Closer than the sister now lost to her. Closer than kind-hearted parents who could not relate. Closer than the beautiful man with a teenage mind and simpering Gryffindor ideals she had married. Too close for her heart to take.

  
But this was better.

Already her magic had dwindled to a trickle; soon, if she did not undo her mind bending enchantments she would be unable, as the curse on their oath ate at her magical core first. Then the Soul. Then finally the body.

  
_How did we know such dark things at just fourteen?_

She could not help smiling fondly. Such distrust.

  
But she had managed. Bound the three together for eternity, as they had always thought.

  
No matter outside appearances.

  
She, a little lost mudblood who happened upon seer blood by some twist of fate.

  
She had wrangled in a childhood friend; a snarky nasty boy so thoroughly abused and disillusioned her heart hurt for him even now.

  
Took in a boy of the Blackest and darkest blood of pureblood society, descended from Mordred himself, steeped in the cursed madness of his line and his own Gryffindor honor.

  
And a boy who once would have thought nothing of slaughtering her parents and torturing her into madness, and never debasing himself to even speak to her.

  
Yes.

  
She did deserve much worse then death for all that she had taken.  
  



	3. The Letter Undelivered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to edit and get a new chapter up every few days, I'm feeling pretty good about the pace, I'm very open to explaining elements, beyond the mystery parts of course, i just don't want to keep going into giant expositions if I can help it frankly.

**1991-**  
The July air was muggy and heavy with the taste of august lingering in the air. The last day of July was positively stifling.

The red brick building with crumbling words haphazardly printed across it was hazy in the heat drifting from the cobble stone street as the tall form of a woman made her way towards it.

  
The woman was strikingly out of place in the crumbling and destitute area of outer London. Her clothing of choice on this particular day was a severe crimson dress with sleeves reaching her wrists and a hem touching the tops of her sensible brown boots made of some richly patterned leather. She was obviously elderly, but moving with a grace uncommonly youthful. Grey-brown hair was pulled sharply into a bun atop her head, the odd lines around her eyes and mouth though indicated she could have been anywhere between forty and sixty.

  
In her hand she held a small envelope, made of thick white parchment with elegantly flowing script written across it in elegant emerald green.

  
The letter was no ordinary missive, it was an acceptance letter. Its author the Headmaster of the elite school Hogwarts that specialized in Witch Craft and Wizardry. 

  
It was uncommon for the woman to find herself wondering the Muggle streets of London, but the letter she had was one of three that had already been sent. As no reply was forth coming The headmaster had asked her to see to the delay herself.

  
Steeling herself for incredulity and wonder, or disbelief and distaste, She knocked on the door that seemed to cave in a bit further with each tap to its frame.

  
It was only a moment before the door was opened and a haggard looking woman with a child on her hip Stood before her. She looked much younger in years than the woman herself but stress beyond her age had weathered her features. She had mousy dark hair and large watery brown eyes. Readjusting the child on her hip she shushed his whining before saying in a throaty voice. "What do you need Madame?"

The woman was surprised to note her voice was overlain thickly with a German accent.

  
Brushing aside her misgivings toward the whole situation, the Wixen did not deal in orphanages the whole idea seemed anathema to her, the woman began her duty, as she did every year. The singular duty of explaining to muggles about magic and how it was not a hoax, not a joke and to be taken most seriously, please. Even if this was the oddest letter she had ever had a hand in delivering.

  
"I am Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. I have not received notice for several letters sent to your establishment in the name of a Harry James Potter." She held out the copy of the acceptance letter as proof, least the woman deny the claim that letters had been sent.

  
The woman's eyes darkened and she set the blond toddler down. She pushed the boy inside warning him "Get to the kitchen right quick, Maudie might give you a treat."  
  
With a hard look at the witch the overworked young woman step over the threshold and slammed the door back into its frame. Leaning against the slow rotting wood with features set in stone and her arms crossed in front of her thin chest she seemed to assess the intentions of the impeccably dressed witch before speaking again, the Accent she had even more pronounced with some emotion.

  
"Harry J. Potter." she began, tipping her head down and speaking wistfully "I was the only one working the night they brought the boy in. He was tiny, barely looked his nine months. Beautiful though. I don't know much about it, beyond it was a small red-haired woman dropping him in my arms sobbing like the world had fallen from under her. Barely got out the lads name and begged me to take him. Wasn't the first woman to come knocking and shoot off like that, but the boy was so young. A quiet, peaceful looking little thing really. Normally the mothers give birth to them here, or don't get rid of the young ones till they reach three or four. The young mothers just can't handle it you see, especially when they're as alone as she seemed that night. But that was the first and last night I saw that baby."

  
She stopped to gather herself through some great emotion, before speaking again.

Minerva was highly unnerved as it was.

Lily had been the one to come here it seemed, her mind was racing, but Lily hadn't... What of the dark mark burned hideously into her face?

The blood she had been drenched in that night and the hysteria? Would she have given little Harry away? It could hardly be coincidence, guessing his mother was a tiny red-head.

Polyjuice? Perhaps who ever had taken him had also stolen Lily's hair before disposing of the babe.

The woman began again, snapping Minerva's stormy blue eyes back to the woman in front of her.

"I was the only person here that night. We had five kids. All of them over ten back then. Well behaved. Sweet and smart to. Why have to pay so many people to mind them, and all that, right? The beauty of economy. So I went and found a ready-set crib with pillows and dragged it in one of the older boy's room. Wasn't his fault. Hardly could have stopped it with that bloody bump on his head could he? But that was it. The baby was gone in the morning and Ralphie was in it something  
awful, they took him to a facility after."

The woman's watery eyes seemed to liquefy ten-fold with emotion.

Minerva was still in shock.

Harry Potter, the child of two of her most promising Lions disappearing had been a harsh enough blow to the Light in already dark times. His Hogwarts Letter seemed to be a bright spot in what was a very troubling time. How James had lit up when the Headmaster had sent for him to see the letter himself before they were sent out. Even Lily, disfigured by dark magic and wasting away from what had to be grief had lit up, a new spark in her eye, when she had seen the letter that had been auto addressed but the enchanted quill of The Founders.

Never could Minerva imagine that she would have to return with the news that would devastate her former students so thoroughly all over again.

His Hogwarts letter was coming to a place he was not, supposedly an impossible occurrence, as while letters were on occasion rejected, none had even been sent to the wrong address, not since The Founders had enchanted the quill!

Most horrifying of all Lily Potter was being implicated in her son's missing status.

Minerva's heart clenched at the thought.

While she always tried to remain impartial. on occasion a few shining examples of true Gryffindor's wormed their way into her heart, Lily, James and his hooligan friends had been some of the more recent children she had watched with pride grow into educated, honorable and magically powerful adults with such bright futures laid out before them.

Only to see them all fall, as if a House of cards had been blown in, each spiraling into despair or even out right treachery. One a Traitor, one bowing to the madness of his blood line, one living in poverty through no fault of his own, and then the other two losing a child and heir while being hunted and targeted so thoroughly they didn't dare even shop alone in public these days.

She didn't think she could handle one more betrayal, one more golden lion struck down by their own hand.

  
So many hopes and dreams collapsing dust left her with the taste of ashes in her mouth.

Years of waiting and questions worthless.

Harry potter was not here. Hadn't been since the first night he'd been missing.

  
It was all the sorrowful woman could do to thank the muggle woman before turning away to find the nearest ally to activate her port-key from, a confrontation brewing in her mind.

  
Albus would not be pleased, Lily and even James would need confronted, something was rotten here.

Staring after the irate witch the Germanic woman's appearance began to shimmer and melt into that of a much less careworn version of herself, her unruly hair even springing up into tight braids. The building behind her dissolved as well, leaving her to turn and smirk at the image of a blond toddler In the ruins of an abandoned alleyway.

  
The toddler opened his mouth revealing a grin filled with needle like teeth and he asked softly "Is she going to hunt the redhead Grizzy? Will she take the bait?" the soft tone and wicked words would have evoked a shudder in the most hard hearted person, but the woman called Grizzy merely smiled a soft smile and replied with  
her own disturbing tone.

  
"Oh I cannot say. I can tell you they will not bother with much else until our dear boy is revealed. We have years my little one, many years before they find out and then it will all be over before it can be discovered"

  
She squealed in excitement and picked the small creature up spinning him about until he hissed a harsh laugh as well, allowing a long serpentine tongue to caress his fangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter isn't very long but I promise we're done with outside prospective, barring the odd scenes in other chapters for cohesiveness, everything else will be all about Harry.


	4. The Lonely Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry witches, wizards and wixen, work started up again and I've been busy af. Still, here is something new!

_**1984-** _

It was his birthday, he knew that, he wasn't a _baby_. He'd been told so by the lady with the smiling eyes. Three years old, she'd told him just that evening.

She was a very calm woman, not overly emotional like the kids around him who cried if they fell, even just a little. She had the softest skin a beautiful dark color that made her teeth gleam white when she smiled at him. Sometimes late at night when it was the two of them in his small room, she would pick him up and wrap him in blankets and hum, holding him to her side.

Her hair was long and wiry, and her clothes were odd. Long flowing dresses and cloaks and tall boots sometimes. Other times she dressed like the sisters at the orphanage, rough wool smocks and a veil over her hair all in black.

Sometimes she appeared to him in the daytime as a big blond lady, with skin like his own but much redder, like she'd stayed in the sun too long. Her words were different then and her body much bigger.

But her eyes never changed. They were a warm reddish brown. A color he didn't have a name for. And her eyes... They seemed so much _more_ than the eyes of the others in the orphanage.

He asked her about it once, why her eyes were different. He had been worried that the other children and sisters weren't real, they didn't seem to have anything shining out their eyes but emptiness and it made him uneasy. She'd smiled, seeming pleased that he was so clever to ask. She told him that it was because she was _other_ than anyone else he'd ever met. And that was all she would ever say no matter how sweetly he asked.

When she looked at him it almost made him feel like the other kids didn't matter, just like she told him. Her soft brown eyes lit a fire in his chest, and burned him with a fierce desire to have her look at him that way _always_.

Though her eyes weren't the only thing that made her stand out in his mind. She was so different from everyone else. In the way she looked, in the way she treated him even.

They all called him _boy_ , or child. The adults at least. Some of the older kids called him a _freak_. He wasn't sure what that meant, not really. But when they said it they were pushing him into the dirt or taking away a toy he had recently found. They sisters weren't nice to him at all. They had so many rules, don't touch, don't eat, don't do this. He was forever doing things to annoy the sisters, like making noises or bleeding too freely from a scrape where he'd fallen to the shove of another child.

But the Lady with the Smiling Eyes called him Harry. He wasn't sure if that was his name or not, but the Lady gave him food and sang to him about beautiful places far away. She even let him eat, or come out of the closet like room he occupied when he was being punished. She was like a safe place to go and always there. It reminded him of something, he would always catch a glimpse, fiery red and cool black. A strange sense of belonging. But it was gone by morning as The Lady was long gone and he was left alone again.

_**1987-** _

"Harry?" The sweet and lilting voice of a small African-Irish woman called out softly as she stroked the cherubic cheek of the sleeping boy on the bed before her. The bed, much like the closet space it was in, were entirely too dingy and small for the boy, who at six was growing more uncomfortable in the room by the day.

"Harry" she tried again, careful not to jostle him. Startling him awake had led to frightening him into screaming before, cutting her visit short.

The black haired boy was still startled awake and cried out sharply, though very quietly, as his breath came in pants and he slammed himself as far into the corner of the bed and wall as he could.

The woman looked on sympathetically, so the boy presumed, as his bright-as-fire green eyes slowly let the fear leak out. "Another one?" was all she asked, not bothering to move forward or offer help in any way, he would not take it, at six already far to independent.

A jerky nod was his response as he worked his way out of the corner, carefully maneuvering himself to not allow for touch, accidental or no. "Blinding green flashes, lots of pleas and the hysterical woman being held down by someone. Same."

The woman gave no sign of having heard outwardly, but inside she could feel an inkling of pride at the emotionless tone Eli's voice had whispered in and sneering disdainfully at the reference, wholly unknowingly, to the weak Lily Potter.

She refocused, the boy now walked in front of her and she noticed a faint uneasiness as he walked.

His gait was usually strong, while he looked down and was entirely submissive he usually held himself up better. He was walking with a distinct hunching of his shoulders. She struck a hand out and spun him effortlessly, looking to his chest. Rust colored stains were seeping at the worn white shirt he had buttoned up.

Whit a wave of her hand she vanished the shirt revealing the source. In bold shaky letters the words _don't tell lies_ had been carved into the alabaster flesh of the angelic six year old, with a depth and precision no _child_ could manage. He had his shoulders hunched almost sulkily so the cuts didn't stretch and tare the tender scabs.

The macabre words were carved one on top of the other, _don't_ situated right below his collar bone and _lie's_ touching the indent that was his navel. The letters were of uneven depth, but for certain they would scar, magic could not even seal them seamlessly.

Not that she would have offered.

Through the years she was quite pleased to note the boy was heartily neglected and actively abused, clinging to her nightly presence as a mother and savior. All she could have wished for and more. But the child was soft. He did not defend. He did not avenge. He would not manipulate and despite all attempts to draw him out, he would not question her use of magic.

He accepted only what she offered, suffered his abuse in silence, never raged and lashed out. He seemed so content with his small life.

But tonight, with this new development, this exposed venerability, maybe the last step in sealing his fate in hard hearted stone might be put into play.

She had never been a good actor so she conjured him a new clean shirt and said in the softest voice she could manage "Harry, when will this stop?"

She hoped the subtle reprimand would stick in his mind as the new day dawned. Maybe he would cling to the idea of ceasing the ill treatment in her name, a way to vindicate her life and her absence. He would certainly become a bitter hurtful young man with none to turn to. And she would be sure to manipulate as long as she could behind the scenes that he was indeed all alone.

She released him and began to walk away. Pretending not to notice as he took a few moments to come up beside her. In the periphery of her sight she saw his hand creep forward to clutch her own, she allowed the contact for a time, until the two reached the doors that led to the exit of the building, under the pretense of opening the door she jerked her hand from his.

Because he was useful she tolerated him. Because he was the future of her kind, she let things go. But this sniveling had to stop. He would be useless turning in the pureblood circles if he couldn't dance the dances with any skill.

So she would force him into a mask. If he couldn't fend off petty little muggles intent on belittling him how would he survive Against hardened, trained pure blood heirs? So she was justified by the _light_ even. After all, the circumstances as they were, he was a _dark_ wizard, she hadn't even had to corrupt the boy or force him to perform the soul spells To change his alignment. No his parents had conveniently given over their child to the dark before he had a choice.

He would grow into a scion of all that was dark.

Three Pureblood sires.

And all the power that had been forced into him through the Arcane Rituals that blessed him with the most deliciously _Avada Kevadara_ eyes.

Oh yes he was one of hers.

She led the boy on their usual nightly walk, down the twisted dirty lane unto the Childs play park for the orphans. He loved the rusted out swings. He never spoke of it but she knew he hated the other boys and girls for being allowed out into the world, allowed to play on the swing set. She had seen as much from his mind and her own observations.

The potential for hate was there, just buried. In any other circumstance she might have even admired his ability to persevere over the baser emotions of anger and hate.

The two would normally sit in silence him swinging and her leaning against the poles of the swing. He liked silence, which was fortunate for her, talking would have been overly tedious. Normally reinforcement onto him that she _was_ , was good enough.

But tonight she called out to her familiar. Tonight was the night for action. The boy would see her brutally murdered and tortured before his eyes, wander back to the orphanage and _hate_. Yes tonight was perfect.

Sitting on the worn out swing Eli himself was in terrible pain but he would never give up his nights with the Dark Lady, as she had told him to call her years ago when he realized what names were. He would be ok, the pain wasn't so bad. The words hurt worse than a fist ever could anyway. He did not lie. The Lady showed him magic every night! It was real.

But the Nun's had not believed him. The older children had hissed and called him a freak. They pushed him and dropped things in his way. They were cruel.

But when he was caught with a small glittering green snake curled in his palm that was the last straw. Sister Aggie had been furious. She yelled and yelled and raved about sinners and hell and the devil. He told her, he was talking to it, the snake was nice. It was magic.

And then she had told him to remove his shirt and stand very still or he would be in his cupboard without food for a month. He wasn't sure but he thought a month without food would kill him, as it was a few days left him weak.

So he stood very still.

Even as she came up to him with a very sharp knife. It had a glittering silver edge with a glossy black hilt. She began cutting the letters. She told him as, she carved the words, about how snakes were evil; the devil was a snake she said. He wasn't sure on the details of her words because he was distracted.

He was watching the slice the knife made into his delicate skin. How the blade parted his flesh and glowing rubies manifested cascading down his chest. The warmth of the sting that flowed right behind her work.

It was sick.

He _knew_ that. As much as a six year old boy could know anything of the world.

But he liked the sight.

He always liked blood.

And pain.

And screams.

Not his own, he knew that, and he knew that was wrong as well. He never caused others harm, not intentionally, but he liked what he saw when someone fell down, when they cried. It wasn't normal. But he wasn't normal. To this point he had always thought of that as a rather bad thing. But what if it wasn't? What if there was a whole world of people out there like him? That enjoyed suffering?

His pitiful musings' were interrupted when he heard a scream. Ironic that.

The Dark Lady was on her feet and she was yelling at a man who looked like what the sisters called a vagrant. He was dressed in scruffy nasty clothing and he had a knife too.

The Dark Lady looked scared.

"Stop! Stand back man! Stay away from the child! Hurt me not him! Please!"

It struck Eli that she was _defending him_. A warm rush flooded his body. No one defended him. But then he was lost as the man wacked her on the side of the face and laughed cruelly as she went down. The man fallowed.

Another kind of warmth flooded his senses as he watched the knife bury itself deep into the Dark Lady's' flesh. It was like the pleasure he felt riding him when Sister Aggie carved the words. but more. So much more.

The man made shallow cuts and carved at her face and stomach and legs. The pool of blood glittered around her in a circle of death. Her life, he thought absently absorbed in the man's work. Oh yes he liked it. Her screams had dwindled to quite wordless sobs. Distantly he was proud she never pleaded for her life. Only for his life.

And then it was over. The man plunged the knife, sharper, bigger, a better planed tool than the one used on him, into her chest. He stood and left. Eli noticed that. He was frozen for a moment, not sure what to do with all the sensations he was feeling before he shot towards the Dark Lady.

In the rush of joy he had forgotten somehow. Forgotten that she was his tentative link to reality and real joy. A shield from everyone that hated him.

She couldn't die.

He stopped at her body. He knelt shakily and looked in her face. Her once smiling eyes flicked a moment as they caught his and then they dimmed. He was conflicted as he registered that this was it, she was dead.

He felt a purely unadulterated joy as her hot blood soaked into the fabric of his night pants and thin shirt. Watched her soul go from the body. As he soaked up her utter helplessness and pain.

But he also felt despair. Loss. Loneliness. It wasn't surreal. He had known that she would go away eventually. She had said she wasn't going to be able to save him. He had just thought he had time. And now he did not.

He also felt some unfamiliar emotion roiling up in him. Something hot and burning, and icy and liquid at the same time. His veins were bursting with it. It held back his tears. He wanted the man who had done this to die.

He remembered the Dark Lady's last words to him.

" _When will it stop?"_

The words surrounded and inscrolled him.

_"Stay away from the child!"_

Stop.

_"Hurt me, not him!"_

It would stop now.

_"please"_

He was _different_.

He wouldn't let his Dark Lady's sacrifice be in vain, he would never forget this night. At six years old he made a vow known only to him in the heavy night air. He vowed that he would make himself worthy in the eyes of his one protector and friend. He would not let the others treat him like _nothing_ again.


End file.
